


breathe in, breathe out

by parksquared



Series: the sky is the limit [2]
Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Edging, Established Relationship, Feelings, Foot Jobs, Kink Exploration, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, and talking a lot, awkward boys being awkward, bottom!woojin, it's really not as hard as the tags make it sound, top!Jihoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 04:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parksquared/pseuds/parksquared
Summary: jihoon and woojin are back again, this time with a new kink to explore





	breathe in, breathe out

**Author's Note:**

> a continuation of [one shot, two shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13935675). you don't have to read that first to understand this (it's just pwp, nothing deep haha). all you need to know is that jihoon did not have a good experience deepthroating previously but that's entirely just a result of expectations not matching reality rather than anything really scary happening to him. 
> 
> really, you can blame this on a tweet i saw—bananas and deepthroating really do not belong in the same sentence
> 
> andddddd pls assume that their floor is extremely clean—they don’t wear shoes indoors ok! they’re koreans

“Hey,” Woojin says suddenly. Jihoon and Woojin are out at the local supermarket grabbing emergency supplies. They’d run out of lube, condoms, ramyeon and fruit this morning and it’s imperative that they get the items immediately (in that order of priority). The sad squelch their lube bottle gave as Woojin squeezed out the last of it this morning still echoes in Jihoon’s ears.

“Yea? This? Or this?” Jihoon dangles a packet of ramyeon in each hand in front of Woojin. 

“Oh, let’s try this,” Woojin grabs the packet from Jihoon’s right hand and throws it into the trolley he’s pushing. “Anyway, as I was saying, what do you think of deep throating?” 

“Park Woojin!” Jihoon hisses out, somehow managing to make sybillant noises even though what he’s saying do not contain the letters necessary for that, and pinches Woojin’s forearm, hard, twists it for good measure.

“Ow! What’s that for!” Woojin pulls his arm away and rubs where his goosebumps have developed and his flesh a raised bump. 

“For talking about,” Jihoon’s voice falls into a conspiratorial whisper as he says, “deep throating.”

“What.” Woojin deadpans and continues indignantly, “We agreed that we can talk about such things! And with no judgement!”

“Not in fucking public, we can’t!” Jihoon replies exasperatedly, in disbelief at Woojin’s denseness at what is considered appropriate conversation in public 

“Hey, it’s just you and me and rows of sad ramyeon here. I checked. So what do you think?” Woojin hand waves flippantly, physically brushing aside Jihoon’s concern for talking about their sex life in public.

Jihoon pauses. Takes in a deep breath. And pauses again. 

If Jihoon were to be completely honest with himself, it’s not that he doesn’t want. He does. He did? He’s not sure. He’s tried it before even, and that, _that_ was a certified complete disaster. It had taken him weeks before he dared to take Woojin’s cock deeper into his mouth, past three-quarters of his pearly whites, and even then he’s always been conscientious about keeping the tip a good distance away from the back of his throat. Whenever he’s feeling particularly pathetic or self-deprecating, Woojin’s traumatised look is certain to feature. Could he risk doing this to himself again? Insecurity creeps up on Jihoon like a weed and makes Jihoon’s heart its home.

Woojin grows visually discomfited by the pregnant silence—he shuffles in place, and he opens his mouth, “i—”

“I’ll think about it.” Jihoon beats him to it, surprising himself at the sincerity he’s managed to put into his reply.

“You will?” Surprise seeps into Woojin’s voice, causing his voice to crack slightly. 

“Yep, promise.” Jihoon says resolutely, meeting Woojin’s eyes, to assure him that he’s not lying about this—eyes are the windows to a man’s soul and all that. 

The air feels thick with tension, in conflict with how easy their relationship has been (putting aside That Period They Do Not Speak Much Of). They stare at each other and Jihoon’s mind is running a mile a second, tossing out random thin scraps of conversation that he could use to break the awkwardness. Just when he’s settled on bringing up the play that they’re going to watch on Sunday, a kid runs into the aisle and starts shrieking. The kid runs out just as fast as he ran in. Jihoon would have thought that he’s a figment of his imagination, if not for the persistent shrieking he continues to hear. 

“Yea, I don’t think I’d want a kid.” Jihoon murmurs, the tension broken.

Woojin nods wordlessly. “Lucky for us, you can’t get pregnant.”

“I would rock being pregnant though,” argues Jihoon, eyes glinting daring Woojin to say otherwise. But Woojin does not bother responding, having heard too many of such statements from Jihoon and knows which battles to fight. All he deigns Jihoon with is a cursory laugh and a quick roll of his eyes. He throws an arm around Jihoon’s waist and guides him back to their trolley, to head to the cash register where they can finally go home for a good dinner and a good time of, in Woojin’s words, “passionate love making”. _What?_

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


Jihoon is back at the supermarket the next day, this time without Woojin. They had realised that they’d forgotten to pick up the fruits after dinner, and settled the dispute like how the most important of decisions are made—a game of luck: scissors, paper, stone.

_(“Go get the fruits. We need it.”_

_“I’m lazy?”_

_“Let’s settle this like real men. Scissors, paper, stone!”_

_“HAIYAAAAACK! You lost!”_

_“Fuck! I’ll let you come on me tonight.”_

_“I already do that normally. Make me another offer.”_

_“Fuck.”)_

Jihoon is walking around listlessly and he’s growing increasingly confused at the selection before him. He’s not sure which fruit to buy as he doesn’t care much for fruits, not liking how they taste like sugared water. He would rather eat a plate of fried chicken for his good health, but alas, fried chicken does not contain enough fibre to ensure enduring smooth bowel movements.

He circles around the fruit section again and mutters to himself, “Watermelon’s too heavy to lug home, strawberries are really expensive, maybe just the kiwis? But they look kinda sad and bruised.” He lets out a groan of frustration at how his cursed hand threw out scissors at a time when it mattered the most. He wishes that Woojin is here too, to make the decision for them on which fruit to get, and misses him fiercely. 

He gives up and decides on getting apples, only to realise that there is yet another hurdle to cross. He can’t tell apart the apples, from the granny smiths to the red deliciouses and the fujis, has never cared enough to find out the difference. They’re all just apples to him and all he knows is red means sweet, green sour. He grabs the red delicious apples for the hilarious name and hopes that it’s the kind Woojin likes—‘crisp and not powdery with sufficient sweetness’. 

He’s about to leave the fruit section when he spots bunches of bananas, arranged neatly in rows, like never ending commas. Suddenly, without any warning at all, in a moment that would later make his personal list of top 10 anime betrayals, he thinks of Woojin’s low and deep voice saying ‘deepthroating’ on repeat and he swears it’s not just a trick of light that the bananas are glowing. 

Jihoon feels a strange sense of compulsion, makes a snap decision to swipe a bunch of bananas, not caring if they are ripe at all, and throws them into his basket. 

_(Later, at home—_

_“You got us bananas too? But you hate bananas!”_

_“No I don’t?”_

_“Yeaaaah, you’re being really weird right now.”)_

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


The lone banana Jihoon stole from the bunch before he presented the fruits to Woojin sits heavily on his study table. He had smuggled it into the pocket of his hoodie, felt its weight throughout their conversation and he has now barricaded himself in their room, leaving Woojin to watch Netflix outside. 

He peers at it from different angles, spins it around like a top, and thinks about how it’d fit in his mouth. It’s not as thick as Woojin’s cock, making this _banana_ an easy fit for Jihoon’s mouth. It’s as long as his hand, perhaps a little longer, which really means it isn’t all that intimidatingly long as far as phallic objects go. Everything points in favour of a good time of fun and Jihoon psyches himself up for it, after all what can be so difficult about deepthroating a banana? It’s soft, nothing can go wrong. At most, all Jihoon has to do is chew and swallow.

Confidence mounting, spirit raring to go, Jihoon unpeels the banana, runs his tongue behind his teeth, opens his mouth. He pushes the banana in—slowly, inch by inch to see how far it would go before his gag reflex is triggered. Jihoon’s breath quickens when the banana makes it past the usual boundary he sets for himself, and when the tip of the banana tickles the back of his throat, he gags a little but keeps it there. He takes a breath through his nose, fills his lungs full of oxygen and when he has gotten used to the ticklish sensation, he wills his throat to relax and pushes more of the banana into his mouth. It slips in easily without resistance and Jihoon cheers mentally, patting himself on the proverbial back.

It’s an odd feeling, having an object in his throat: he can’t get rid of the urge to swallow and his throat feels like it’s fighting the urge to constrict. It doesn’t help that the banana feels like it is pressing against the back of his tongue. He doesn’t quite know if it’s the disgusting taste and smell of the banana finally getting to him—of artificial sweetness and decay—or that he has a foreign object in his throat but he feels incredibly restless and he quickly pulls the banana out of his mouth. His tongue feels coated with powdery bits of remnant banana and Jihoon can’t wait to brush his teeth. 

Right. That was really disgusting. A hundred percent do not recommend. Ever. 

“Jihoon?” Jihoon hears Woojin’s voice and knows that Woojin is about to open the door and throws away the banana in a panic. It barely makes it into the waste basket. “What are you doing all alone in here?”

“Hey,” Jihoon turns around in his seat as Woojin walks over to find him. 

“Watch Netflix with me?” Woojin murmurs as he leans down, making his intent clear. They have been together long enough for Jihoon to pick up the non-verbal cues. Jihoon looks up and leans up to kiss Woojin. 

“Were you... were you eating a banana?” Woojin asks when they break the kiss, looking perplexed that he had tasted banana.

“Yep, had a craving for it,” Jihoon says, eyes shifting instinctively to look at the waste basket.

“Are you pregnant? Is that why you’re eating fruits you’d never eat?” Woojin asks jokingly, snickering as he holds Jihoon’s face in his palms in mock concern. 

“Yes, Woojin. Your super sperm broke through the condom, an artificial womb magically conjured in me, and now I’m carrying your baby.” Jihoon deadpans and continues, “Oh my god, Woojin, is this the modern day immaculate conception?” Jihoon gasps, as fakely as his fake baby in his fake womb. “Will you take responsibility for me and our unborn child?” 

“Dude, are you even listening to yourself right now? First, the immaculate conception does not work that way—it’s for virgins which by now I’ve made sure _repeatedly_ that you can never claim to be one,” Woojin smirks and Jihoon feels like throwing something at him, “and second, you forgot to mention how my super sperm was smart enough to find its way to your artificial womb through your ass.”

Jihoon cackles as Woojin corrects him. Jihoon quickly retorts, “No, but wait. What if it’s because I swallowed instead of spitting your gross sperm out?”, knowing full well that human biology doesn’t work that way and that they’ve both lost the plot in their need to have the fucking last word. 

Nothing makes sense tonight anyway—he fucking deepthroated a banana and he’s arguing about how he got pregnant—but he’s all in for the wild ride, if it’s with Woojin.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


It is yet another typical Monday and Jihoon and Woojin are doing the typical things that they do on Mondays. Jihoon is watching Masterchef with Woojin, or rather Woojin is watching Masterchef and Jihoon is nestled against Woojin’s chest, playing Legend of Zelda on Woojin’s Switch and enjoying Woojin’s warmth against his back when he notices a hitch in Woojin’s breathing. _Oh boy, here we go._

“I’ve thought about it. _More_. And I think maybe we can do this instead,” Woojin says suddenly.

“Do what, exactly?” Jihoon’s beginning to fear for himself really with these sudden proclamations that Woojin has taken to making recently—these lines said with so much _gravitas_ but often bring an element of surprise and frankly, shock. Jihoon pulls himself out of Woojin’s light embrace, and turns his body to face Woojin, deciding that this might very well be a conversation that warrants actual eye contact.

“Deepthroating? I mean, I’ve been thinking about it since I mentioned it to you, you know, at the supermarket? And I thought maybe it’s unfair to expect you to do it to me, so maybe, I could, uh, I mean we could take turns? Deepthroating each other? Have a deepthroating championship? See who’s the deepthroating champion of 2018 between the two of us? Aaand, I’m going to stop now,” Woojin rambles then quirks a small smile at Jihoon when he’s done. Relief at how he’d managed to get his verbal diarrhea out in one breath evident on his face. 

God, Jihoon hates being right sometimes. 

“What..” 

“Deepthroating! Get with the programme!” Evidently, Jihoon had thought wrongly. It was not relief Jihoon had read on Woojin’s face but pride that he had rambled his way through a request? Jihoon doesn’t quite know how to classify this bizarre conversation. _Deepthroating championship? Ha. What on earth._

It’s been 10 days since the Fateful Day, 9 since Jihoon deepthroated a banana. Jihoon’s got to give it to Woojin for lasting this long without pressing him for an answer. He _has_ been thinking about it, but he’s not sure if he has settled on an answer. His last experience with the banana, while did not result in any choking, was not by any means pleasant. 

“You want to try it? Where is this coming from?” Jihoon asks defensively, wondering if Woojin had relied on some dubious tips from Naver, just like he did previously. 

“What. Nowhere! I just thought maybe if I tried it on you, you might like it!” Woojin says placatingly then in a one single, hurried breath, “andmaybeyoulllikeitenoughtotryagain.”

Jihoon mentally slows down what Woojin rushed through, adds the necessary spaces and deciphers that gibberish mess of words easily. “W-what? I might like it enough to try it again? I-I…,” Jihoon blusters, words failing him completely.

“Yea! If I do not choke, which I will make sure not to, you will not choke too and if I do it well, I can share some tips with you,” says Woojin somberly, nodding his head minutely in time with his inflexions. Jihoon doesn’t know if he should hit him or not. He appreciates the sentiment, is oddly thankful for it even—that Woojin is thinking of ways to ease him into this gently—but it is so bizarre that he’s starting to wonder if he is actually stuck in a dream sequence and that he’s going to wake up anytime now and be fucking weirded out. How much does Woojin want to be deepthroated really?  
“I don’t.. I really don’t know what to say?” 

“Okay. Then don’t say anything! It was just an idea anyway. Look, the blonde kid is crying again and I want to know why,” Woojin says nonchalantly (but Jihoon sees through him anyway, sees how tightly Woojin is holding himself together and feels the tension in the arm wrapped around him), as he pulls Jihoon back against his chest and kisses the side of his head. 

_Huh? Deepthroating championship?_

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


There’s a warm tongue in his mouth. Jihoon was watching Netflix, enjoying the anime that’s in fact still playing now, but there’s now a warm tongue in his mouth and a purple head blocking his view.

He doesn’t quite know how that happened, exactly. In true Woojin fashion, Woojin plopped down next to him on the sofa and dropped an arm around Jihoon’s shoulders. In what is also true Woojin fashion, he started squirming about 10 minutes into the show, jostling Jihoon’s side with every squirm. Jihoon is mostly used to it, too engrossed in his anime anyway but when a particularly vigorous squirm elbowed him instead, Jihoon slapped Woojin’s thigh to make him stop. And what Woojin did next was to lean over and kiss Jihoon. 

So, Jihoon has a warm tongue in his mouth. It is only reflex that Jihoon opens his mouth when Woojin’s tongue swipes across his lips, begging for entrance. It is not reflex when Jihoon leans back, forcing Woojin to chase his lips to deepen the kiss. His anime can wait, he can rewind later when he’s done, or never, he doesn’t care, not when Woojin is kissing him within an inch of his life. 

“I didn’t know murderous little girls turned you on,” Jihoon pants against Woojin’s lips, when they part for a much needed breath. 

“Only if they’re as pretty as you,” Woojin swings a leg to straddle Jihoon on the sofa and swoops in for another kiss, tongue licking into Jihoon’s mouth. It’s wet, filthy as their tongues slide against each other in an intricate dance that only they know the steps to.

“You’re in a mood today,” Jihoon pants out when they separate, Woojin having moved on to kiss the round of his cheeks, the side of his jaw, his eyelids and Jihoon’s eyes flutter shut in pleasure, humming as Woojin peppers even more kisses on his face. 

Jihoon tightens his hands on Woojin’s hips when he licks his ear and nibbles at his earlobes.

Woojin grinds down in response and they both groan at the friction.”I’m always in the mood for you,” says Woojin as he keeps up a slow steady rhythm rocking against Jihoon, their soft cocks hardening gradually. 

“Such a sweet talker, what do you want from me?” Jihoon tilts his head to give Woojin more access to his neck. Woojin mouths at the slightly tanned column, alternating between light nips and sucks, not pausing to admire the blooming bruises.

“Nothing. Just you. All of you.” 

“Careful, you’re going to stretch out the collar,” Jihoon says when Woojin moves to lick the juncture where his neck and shoulders met, pulling the shirt by the sleeve to lathe at Jihoon’s collarbone. 

Jihoon slips his cold hands under the hem of Woojin’s shirt, rakes his nails against Woojin’s back and feels him shudder. He smiles to himself, pleased with the effect he has on Woojin.

“I don’t care. It’s mine, isn’t it. Why do you keep wearing my shirts,” Woojin says, voice thick with lust. 

“Coz it gets you like this—all hot and bothered,” Jihoon shimmies and gives a particular hard thrust, resulting in Woojin groaning into Jihoon’s mouth. “Why are we still dressed?” 

Jihoon moves to remove his shirt but Woojin stops him. “Keep it on. I like seeing you in my clothes,” and resumes kissing Jihoon—takes Jihoon’s plush bottom lip between his lips, worries it with his teeth and pulls lightly. Jihoon feels his bottom lip spring back into place when Woojin releases it. 

Jihoon pulls his head back and says, “Ok, but you’re not wearing my shirt, so take yours off.”

“Ha..,” Woojin sits back and pulls his shirt off by the hem, the action causes his muscles to shift and Jihoon scrambles his fingers against the exposed skin, rubs in tiny circles. Goosebumps have risen on Woojin’s skin due to the chill from their aircon and Jihoon runs his fingers against the pebbled skin, enjoying how the bumps feel against the pads of his fingers. “Have some patience.” 

Jihoon flicks Woojin’s nipple in silent reply. 

Woojin hisses then chuffs, leaning in for a quick press against Jihoon’s lips. Woojin shifts. Sensing that Woojin’s about to get off his lap, Jihoon grabs hold off his hand, holding him in place, brings their hands palm to palm, intertwining their fingers.

“Let me up,” Woojin says as he pats Jihoon’s cheek with his other hand, “Gotta take off my pants,” reaches down and presses his hand against Jihoon’s crotch. Jihoon humps against the pressure instinctively. “Look at you, so hard already.” 

Woojin stands when Jihoon lets go of his hand and makes quick work of getting rid of his pants. He looks at Jihoon when he’s done and groans when he sees Jihoon rubbing himself through his sweatpants. 

“Woojinnie,” Jihoon whines.

Jihoon sees how Woojin’s dick springs free from his pants and his mouth dries at the sight. It curls slightly to the right and Jihoon feels an overwhelming need to take Woojin into his mouth, run his tongue against the thick vein underneath his cock and feel his silky skin against his tongue. 

Jihoon leans forward to do just that but Woojin moves faster than him. He crouches down between Jihoon’s sprayed legs and hooks his hands around Jihoon’s knees, pulling him closer. Woojin nuzzles his face against Jihoon’s crotch and huffs against it, warm breath ghosting against his crotch. Jihoon feels his cock twitch involuntarily, from the moistness of his precum and Woojin’s mouth against the cotton of his sweats, and cants his hip to press his crotch firmly against Woojin’s mouth. 

“If you’re not going to suck me now, then let me. Suck. You. Stop teasing me,” Jihoon ends with a whine, not caring how desperate he sounds. 

Woojin laughs against Jihoon’s crotch and his puffs of breath tickle his crotch. Feeling like a million ants are crawling on him from how restless he feels, Jihoon lets out a sobbing whine. “Woojinnie…” and reaches out to tug at Woojin’s hair.

“Up.” Woojin pats Jihoon’s thighs and he gets the hint, lifts up his bum and Woojin pulls his sweats off. Jihoon hisses when the elastic band catches on his cock. “Ha.. sorry.” Woojin blows on Jihoon’s cock in apology, laughs when it twitches in response and takes the tip into his mouth. Woojin’s tongue runs circles around the tip and he laps at the precum that’s spilling out of his slit. 

Jihoon looks down, sees how the light catches on Woojin’s eyelashes—glitters wetly on his dark lashes—sees the bobbing of his head and groans in lust. He grows impossibly larger at the sight and Woojin pulls off—his saliva and Jihoon’s precum leaving a trail between his lips and his cock. Woojin licks his lips to break the link. “Do you have any idea how obscene you look right now?” 

“Not as obscene as you’ll be when I’m done with you.” Woojin smirks and takes Jihoon into his mouth once again, suckling the tip. 

Jihoon sides his hand underneath his shirt, lets it pool at his elbows in order to tease at his nipples, feels them tighten into tight nubs, rakes his nails against them. Every flick feels electrifying and heat pools in his gut and he lets out soft mewls. 

Woojin peers up from under, sees how Jihoon is pleasuring himself and lets out a quiet “Fuck.” He takes more of Jihoon in—slides his lips up and down Jihoon’s length, forming a tight seal around his cock. 

Woojin’s mouth is hot, so hot, and wet and at that very moment, Jihoon cannot think of a better position to be in. The juxtaposition of the heat of Woojin’s mouth and the chill of the aircon on his exposed stomach runs shivers down Jihoon’s spine. He feels like he’s burning up, yet being iced down at the same time. The feeling is addictive and it causes Jihoon to thrust into Woojin’s mouth, in search for more of that burning heat. 

Woojin, the super trooper that he is, takes every thrust, every attempt of Jihoon’s at fitting more of himself in his mouth in stride; keeps his tongue on the underside of Jihoon’s cock, as though it requires support and hollows his cheeks, creating that delicious pressure that causes Jihoon’s hips to buck. 

Jihoon whines and breaks, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Woojinnie, you’re trying to kill me, fuck,” as he vacillates between wanting to close his eyes to bask in this moment—let his senses heighten now that he’s unable to see—or looking at Woojin’s fucking face, spit shiny around his mouth, dripping down his chin, dark lips stretched around his cock and his eyes—Woojin’s eyes blown wide with lust, like a mad man possessed. Jihoon chokes back a whine and presses a fist to his lips. 

Jihoon can hear Woojin pumping himself as he sucks down his dick. He wants to touch Woojin, feel that velvety cock on his skin, but he’s too far away for his hands to reach and he’s too comfortable where he is—leaning back on the sofa, Woojin’s heat surrounding him. 

It is then that he decides to use his foot as the next best course of action and he shifts, foot dancing up Woojin’s thighs to find his hard cock, jutting out between his legs. When Woojin realises what Jihoon was up to, he merely shifts to align his cock against Jihoon’s foot. 

Jihoon has always known that Woojin’s hands are big, held them many times before, compared palm sizes, finger lengths in times when their priority is in silent companionship instead of talking about anything substantial. He is reminded of how fucking huge Woojin’s hands are when he wraps his hand around the front of Jihoon’s foot to keep it in place against his cock. 

Woojin’s girth fits nicely into the arch of Jihoon’s foot and he strokes, small and light, in time with Woojin’s mouth pumping his length. 

It’s a strange sensation—stroking using his foot. The arch of his foot is the least touched and it shows in how sensitive it is. Every glide against Woojin’s cock tingles, sending sparks through his limbs. 

Woojin unlatches his mouth from where he’s been mouthing at Jihoon’s balls, sucking them in one by one and rolling them with his tongue and pants wetly against the juncture where Jihoon’s pelvis and thigh meets. 

“Need a break?” Jihoon laughs then shrieks when Woojin tugs at his pubic hair, “You fucking asshole!” and feels Woojin kiss the exact same spot, his fingers smoothing the hairs on the other side, as if that would take away the sting. It doesn’t but Jihoon’s not too bothered by such inane actions—they wouldn’t work otherwise.

“Serves you right. Oh god, why is your foot so… rough… callused? What have you been doing?” 

“Hmm,” Jihoon hums in mock consideration, “Walking around barefooted, I guess, for this moment, to pleasure you with my foot,” and sniggers. “Feels good?” 

“Yeah, it does,” Woojin groans as he thrusts into the warm enclave formed by Jihoon’s foot and his hand. 

The mood turns serious, inexplicably. Jihoon thinks they’d make a curious pair—Woojin’s in a position associated with worship and devotion but Jihoon feels like he’s worshiping him instead. Their eyes meet and it’s as if Woojin has caught on to Jihoon’s strange mood and he mouths “What?” at Jihoon. 

Perhaps it’s not best to make decisions with a lust addled mind. Perhaps it’s not good to make rash decisions too but Jihoon has had enough of careful considerations and overthinking (it’s been two weeks and he’s _tired_ ) and he decides, right there and then. It’s Woojin—he’s in safe hands, he can trust him and he knows can stop anytime he wants to because it’s Woojin here with him—he has enough proof points to know that even in his worst state, Woojin would never hurt him. And Woojin would never force him to continue something he doesn’t want, if he shows even the littlest tinge of regret. And so he decides.

Jihoon feels rather proud of himself for having his mental faculties together, enough to come to a momentous decision, while Woojin’s nuzzling against his length, running his nose like a dumb dog looking for his next snack. Well, Woojin’s about to get one.

Jihoon closes his thighs together, traps Woojin between them to get his attention. “Babe, stand up.”

Woojin looks up in confusion. Jihoon feels a rush of love for this dumb dumb and he feels compelled to bend over, to land a kiss on Woojin’s forehead. “Why are you being weird?”

“Just stand up. Come here.” Jihoon says as he tugs on Woojin’s hand, “Poor baby, your knees are so red,” and nuzzles his face against Woojin’s kneecaps, blowing against them. Woojin shudders when Jihoon’s breath ghosts against his kneecaps. 

“What are you planning?” 

“I am going to do the thing,” Jihoon says, emphasising the capital Ts and gives Woojin a significant look. 

“Wha—Oh, are you sure?” Woojin reaches down to hold Jihoon’s face in his hands, his thumbs rubbing the sides of his face. 

_Fuck, why are his hands so huge and warm_ , Jihoon thinks to himself but says this instead, “Yep, deepthroating. Why? You don’t want it anymore?”, turns his head into Woojin’s right palm and takes his thumb into his mouth, releasing it with a pop. 

“You’re a real dick you know.”

“Yep, and I’m about to have your dick in my mouth,” Jihoon sniggers at the dumbstruck look on Woojin’s face, unduly proud of his cheap joke, and gets off the sofa. He kneels on the floor and points at the sofa, wordlessly tells Woojin to get on it. 

But Woojin does something that Jihoon does not expect. He gets on but scoots to the edge of the sofa and leans against the arm rest, body coming to lie on the sofa. “Come up here, your knee will start hurting again if you kneel for too long.”

Jihoon’s heart clenches at Woojin’s consideration for him but what comes out instead is this, his emotional constipation getting the better of him, “Who says you’re going to last long enough for it to hurt?” 

Jihoon regrets what he’s said immediately but all Woojin does is pat Jihoon’s face, once, twice, somehow channeling all his condescension into his action. Jihoon knows that Woojin has not taken that to heart—they’ve weathered through other storms, time an adequate teacher to learning each other's quirks. But despite that quiet forgiveness that Woojin had granted without prompting, Jihoon apologises softly, and Woojin strokes his face again.

“So, are you going to blow me or not,” Woojin taunts, smirks at Jihoon and that breaks the tension that had been slowly festering in the few seconds where time seemed to lengthen and slow down. 

“Fuck you,” Jihoon says as he gets onto the sofa and gets on all fours. Woojin was right, the padding of the sofa _is_ much easier on Jihoon’s knees. 

“Hi,” Jihoon says as he gets on eye-level with Woojin’s cock, breathes over it and whispers, “I love you.” 

“Only my cock?” Woojin jokes. 

Jihoon had a split second to decide if he wants to wear his heart on his sleeve or hide behind a mask and he decides that Woojin deserves much more than glib lines and false bravado. “No, all of you, I’m going to show you how much I love you.” says Jihoon as he stares into Woojin’s eyes. He knows he has done the right thing when Woojin’s face lights up and a deep flush starts to colour his cheeks. The love radiating from Woojin’s face fucking hurts to see and it’s almost as if Woojin has become a mirror, reflecting what he too feels—happiness, warmth and safety, anchored by the love they have for each other.

Jihoon takes Woojin into his mouth, wraps his lips carefully around his teeth, just the way Woojin likes—just the softness of his lips rubbing against his length. Woojin’s cock had softened a little in the brief period they spent reaffirming their affections for each other and Jihoon feels Woojin’s cock stiffen as he sinks down and hollows his cheeks to form a tight seal around him. 

Jihoon hears Woojin thumping his fist against the sofa, in sync with every pump of Jihoon’s mouth, as if to get rid of pent up frustration at being hard for so long, and Jihoon realises that Woojin is not going to last long, despite what he says. _Ok, game on, it’s showtime._

Jihoon takes Woojin’s hand and puts it behind his head, giving him something to hold, to pull, to guide, to distract, to not _cum_ , and takes Woojin deeper into his mouth. It’s okay, he’s practiced this before. He just needs to breathe and so he does—breathe, slowly and steadily, one breath at a time, in and out from his nose. 

When he feels the tip of Woojin’s cock brush against the back of his throat, he wills himself to relax, to keep his throat open, to take Woojin in deeper and longer without choking. 

It’s still strange having a foreign object in his throat but it doesn’t feel bad. It’s different from the banana he deepthroated—none of that gross griminess but just the smoothness of Woojin’s skin and the heat of his body. It’s hot, a burning rod, and it’s throbbing and it’s infinitely _better_.

Saliva gathers and Jihoon swallows inadvertently and the movement constricts around Woojin’s cock. He groans as his fingers tighten in Jihoon’s hair and pushes against Jihoon’s head. Jihoon chokes from the new depth and Woojin lets go immediately, giving Jihoon space to pull off. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Are you okay?” It’s a funny sight—Woojin with his hands up in mock surrender, as if he’s petrified. He probably is. Jihoon would laugh if he were not busy trying to swallow the ball of saliva that had welled up and blink away the tears that has gathered at the corners of his eyes. Instead, he settles for leaning his head against Woojin’s inner thigh, coughing lightly to get rid of the gunk that feels stuck in his throat.

“Are you okay?” Woojin asks again. Jihoon does not bother responding but kisses a path down Woojin’s inner thigh, leading down to his cock. 

Jihoon takes Woojin’s cock into his mouth again. Practice _does_ make perfect. It is easier this time, faster too, to take more of Woojin in now that he knows there’s nothing to fear and that everything will be okay. He takes all of him in and when the tip of his nose touches the thatch of hair on Woojin’s groin, Jihoon smiles to himself and start bobbing his head, alternating between shallow sucks at the tip and deeper glides along Woojin’s length. 

Jihoon feels the ghost of a presence hoovering by his side, and realises that Woojin’s being apprehensive. He reaches back wildly and guesses where Woojin’s hand, grabs and presses it against his head, giving him permission to thread his fingers through his hair again. Woojin is chanting a litany of yes-es below him and Jihoon can feel how Woojin’s thighs are trembling and knows he’s close. Jihoon constricts his throat one last time and pulls off. 

“Wha-why? Babe, I’m so close, baby, please,” Woojin whines when he realises that Jihoon’s mouth is no longer on him. 

“Hold on, just a second,” Jihoon climbs off the sofa, runs to their bedroom as fast as he can to grab the lube and condom. He slams the drawer shut in his haste, nearing missing his fingers, only to see that Woojin has not been idle and Jihoon stops short. He’s shifted—resting his head against the arm rest instead and he’s teasing himself—tweaking his nipple and playing with his balls, pressing against them with the palm of his hands while his fingers rub against his rim of his hole. “Woojinnie…” Jihoon says to himself, quietly and kneels by the side of the sofa. He uncaps the lube and pours it on his fingers. “Woojinnie, you want?” 

“Yeah. Yeah” says Woojin as his finger presses harder against his hole. 

“Okay.” Jihoon replaces his fingers with Woojin’s and resumes rubbing against his hole, feels it relax and presses one finger in. Woojin’s body is impossibly hot and burns around his finger. Jihoon gets knuckle deep, Woojin’s walls soft around him and he stretches Woojin out. He adds another finger when Woojin starts to feel loose around his finger. When both fingers are in, Jihoon pumps them in and out of Woojin’s hole and scissors his fingers. 

Jihoon pulls his fingers out when he deems that Woojin is ready and tries to open the condom packet. But his fingers are slippery with lube and he fails to open it in one smooth rip. He growls in frustration and Woojin fucking laughs at him. 

Woojin beckons to Jihoon, crooks his index and middle fingers, and Jihoon throws the condom at Woojin. It lands on his chest with a crinkle and Woojin picks it up, straightens the edges and opens it easily, invalidating all of Jihoon’s earlier struggles with the damned packet. He smirks at Jihoon, sits up and rolls it on for him, and seals the deal with a dramatic kiss to the tip. 

“I fucking hate you,” Jihoon says as he pours lube on his hand and strokes his cock to spread the lube evenly.

“You can channel that aggression into fucking me,” Woojin taunts as he gets on his fours on the sofa. 

Jihoon puts one knee on the sofa, the other firmly planted onto the floor, holds onto Woojin’s hips and says, “Those are some fighting words”, and presses into Woojin immediately, not giving him time to react. The momentum pushes Woojin forwards and if it were not for Woojin’s strength, he would have toppled onto his elbows. 

The air is filled with the sound of Jihoon’s whines and Woojin’s grunts as Jihoon thrusts into Woojin at a punishing pace, every thrust brushing against his prostate. Jihoon is not in the mood to tease or draw this out any longer—he has all the time in the world later to appreciate the divots in Woojin’s lower back, the shift of his muscles as he pushes back against Jihoon—so he leans forward to take Woojin’s cock in his hand and pumps it as he thrusts. 

“Jihoonie, baby, I’m close,” Woojin’s voice quavers from the effort of keeping himself steady on fours. 

“I know, I’ll take care of you,” Jihoon twists his wrist the way Woojin likes, and rubs his fingers against Woojin’s frenulum and Woojin comes in spurts, gasping for breath. Cum spills all over Jihoon’s fingers as he wrings every last drop from Woojin. Jihoon climaxes quickly after, spilling out into the condom. 

Jihoon pulls out of Woojin and sits onto the sofa, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing in particular. Woojin is right next to him, having curled up in a fetal position. They both pant softly as they try to catch their breath. 

Woojin turns onto his back and stretches out his legs across Jihoon’s thighs, throws an arm against his eyes to block out the glare from the ceiling lights. Woojin’s legs are a heavy weight on Jihoon that anchors him. He wraps a hand around Woojin’s ankle, thumb rubbing his ankle joint.

When Woojin has caught his breath, he sits up and picks up his boxers from the floor and uses it to wipe the cum off Jihoon’s fingers. He throws the boxers on the floor when he’s done. 

Jihoon resists the urge to fall asleep immediately, barely finding any energy in him to ogle at Woojin as he puts on his discarded shirt, feeling a tinge of loss when the black shirt covers Woojin’s tanned skin and abs. Jihoon rests the back of his head against the sofa and breathes deeply, his body a deadweight.

It is in times like these when Woojin’s endless energy is sufficiently expensed and he settles down next to Jihoon in a rare moment of stillness. And he waits for him to regain his senses. 

“Shall we rewind?” is the last thing Jihoon hears before he surrenders to his sleepiness, dropping his head against Woojin’s shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading this! it got way longer than i expected 
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated, so please lemme know what you think! 
> 
> nsfw tweets:[@thirstyhipp0](https://www.twitter.com/thirstyhipp0)  
> sfw tweets:[@05294DJ1](https://www.twitter.com/05294DJ1)  
> i've [cc](https://curiouscat.me/99529) too if you want to scream at me wo me knowing who you are
> 
> andddd lastly, a plug for [bunssodan cross](https://www.twitter.com/bsdcross) which i'm a part of. (i won't be writing any nsfw as part of this group but pls support us!)


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